


New Frontier

by User435



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Coruscant, F/M, I'm Sorry, Serenno, Uncle Dooku lmao, no y/n
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-28 12:41:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30139716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/User435/pseuds/User435
Summary: The niece and ward of Count Dooku of Serenno, you're taken to Coruscant to find a suitable match during the party season. However life has a habit of not going to plan.No Y/N
Relationships: Jango Fett & Reader, Jango Fett/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This random idea hit me after a prompt, which I'll expand more on later.  
> But we're kinda in a later victorian au??? We're going to expand into that bit later ;)

“How has your season been so far, my dear?”   
Your uncle, the Count of Serenno, asks from across the silver table. His eyes don’t leave the newspaper he is reading, squinting through his glasses to make out the small print.    
His eyesight had been growing weaker this past year, but he won’t admit it outside his private consultations with the optician. Too proud to show his growing age. You had given out to him about this pride before, arguing it was better to grow old than die.   
“It has been fruitless so far.” you answer, taking a sip of your morning tea. “Truth be told, I wished to court the young Senator of Alderaan, but it appears he has already been taken.”   
“Your tastes lie in politicians then?”   
“Not particularly, I just found him polite, and respectful when we met at the last ball of Naboo. Traits I am finding hard to come by from others.”   
“No other suitors are meeting your tastes?”   
Your uncle’s concern in your private life was from a place of concern, but more towards the concern of keeping his word.    
You are a lady born into the house of Serenno by your mother Anya, the Count’s younger sister, and to a questionable father. The scandal had sent shockwaves through the outer rim and straight to the capital. It had taken years for the judgement of the noble class to fade, and still the reputation didn’t leave you. You had often caught whispers behind fans, and flickering glances directed your way in the gossip corners of the societal ballrooms, and tea parties. Still, you had kept your head held high, taking great pains to earn their respect whether that was through your manners, your eloquence or your skilled accomplishments. When your mother had passed on her sickbed, taken by an illness that even the best doctors couldn’t help, you had been passed to your uncle’s care. He had promised your mother that you would be seen to, that you would wind up safe and reputable somewhere.    
And he is intent on keeping that promise to his dearly departed sister, whom he had doted upon.    
Which was what had landed you here. Sitting at the breakfast table, and rating the suitors of the current courting season.    
“What of the viceroy of the trade federation? He is unmarried, and a family friend.”   
You suppress the crinkle of disgust that tried to creep onto your face, “He is too advanced in age.”   
“Back in my youth, such a thing was not an issue. ”   
“This is the new age, uncle. I wish to grow old with my prospective husband, and not alone.”   
“A romantic notion.” he sighs, folding away the paper and waving over the servant to serve breakfast, “Such a thing is not relevant for a woman of your standing.”   
The servants bring forward plates of fruit, and eggs on toast, as well as hot pots of fresh coffee and tea. You smile your thanks to them, nodding your head a little,    
“That does not mean I am completely barred from it, Uncle.”   
He tucks his napkin into the collar of his shirt, and pours himself some black coffee, “Well, you best find your suitor soon, my dear. Otherwise I will be choosing a suitable match for you. An arrangement we both won’t enjoy.”   
  


You sigh as your handmaid, Alice, finishes pinning up your hair in rounded curls, tapping a bit of blush over the apples of your cheeks which have grown pale.    
“My lady, is everything all right?”   
“I’m just nervous for tonight, that is all.” your hands smooth out the skirt of your petticoat. Alice smiles at you through the mirror, “My lady, you should have no worries, you’ll be the bell of the ball after we’re finished.”   
“Thank you, Alice.” you sigh again, hands switching to fiddle with the laced hem of your petticoat, “I’m just worried of disappointing my Uncle.”   
“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, my lady, the Count is impatient with these things. It isn’t unusual for some young women to not marry on their first courting season.” she assures you, sliding the decorative comb into your hair, before placing both hands on your shoulder, “Who knows, you might meet the perfect suitor next season. Now, up you get, my lady, let’s get this dress on.”   
Alice directs you towards the warmth of the fire, and kneels in front of you to pull up the skirt. The shiny material of soft blue cascades over your petticoats as she secures the ties on your waist. You hiss slightly when she pulls the ties tightly across your waist, and she gives you an apologetic look. Alice then picks up the top from where she had previously laid it out on the bed, and guides your arms though the sleeves. The ties are pulled tightly, and you hold the mantelpiece over the fireplace for balance as Alice secures you into the evening gown. She sighs satisfactorily, and spins you around by the waist, checking the fit of the gown, “How does it feel, my lady?”   
You walk over to the looking glass, spinning slightly to check the bustle on the back, and drawing your fingertips across your exposed collarbones. Alice kneels in front of you, an you hold her shoulders as she slips on your shoes,    
“Do you think it suits me, Alice? Or should I go with the red?”   
“The blue is best, my lady.” she smiles, slipping on your evening gloves, and handing you the small embroidered purse and fan, “You’ll be turning heads left and right, I know it.”   
You fold your hands in front of you, and tilt your head, checking the looking glass to see how you'll look, “My neck looks rather bare, do you think my mother’s pearls would suit it, no? Or would that be too much do you think?”   
Alice walks back to your dressing table, delicately removing the string from your box and holding them over your throat. She hums as she looks in the reflection, “We’d have to change your earrings, my lady, but I think you’re right.”   
“The pearl drops should do.” you remove the diamond drops, and hand them over to her in exchange for the more suited earrings. You slip them onto your ears as she secures the clasp of the necklace. Alice holds your shoulders, smiling at you, “Pretty as a painting my lady.”   
  


Uncle Dooku raises an eyebrow as you descend the staircase, a splodge of blue amongst the silver. You smile, “How do I look?”   
“As charming as ever,” he hums, holding out his hand for you to steady yourself on as you descend the stairs. He lets you spin once you’re done, chuckling at your antics as he waves over the servants to bring your coats. Your uncle drapes your cloak over your shoulders, letting you secure it, before allowing you to secure his own. You brush down the labels, feeling tiny beside his towering height, “As handsome as ever, Uncle, the poor young lads of the season will stand no chance with all your nobility.”   
He holds out his elbow for you to wrap your arm around as you descend the front doors of the house, “Luckily for them, my bachelor days are a thing of the distant past.”   
He helps you into the carriage, before sliding to sit across from you, hands resting on his legs as the carriage jolts to a start. The horse hooves clopping outside as you watch the streets of bustling streets of Coruscant pass by the window.    
  


The capital always intrigued you as you never visited the townhouse often. Mostly residing in the comforting familiarity of Castle Serenno. Your uncle would sometimes make trips to the capital, mostly for business and administrative duties, usually bringing back a gift for you. The last time you had visited, you had been 16, accompanying your Uncle as a formality for the welcoming ceremony of the next Serennian Senator for the central government.    
Outside you see some of the tallest buildings you have ever seen, of all different styles and shapes, slotted in like some intricate puzzle. A far cry from the uniform streets of Serenno.    
You pass market stalls, and street parades, a city park, all filled with masses of people. Your eyes nearly hurt from staring so long, unwillingly to blink lest you miss a detail.    
“I want you to be careful who you choose to dance with tonight, my dear. The season is drawing to an end.” your uncle breaks his silence.    
You nod, straightening up and looking back at him, “I’ll try my best to find a suitable match tonight, I promise.”   
He hums something, it’s meaning something you can’t quite understand, as the carriage pulls up a winding street. You hold your hands out either side of your legs to steady yourself,    
“I acknowledge you are in a difficult position amongst this class, but if you fail to find a suitor here, it will be even more difficult to find a suitable one in the status beneath you.”   
“I understand, uncle.”

“Good.”

  
The party at the house of Valorium takes your breath away.    
The front steps are decorated with bowls, holding ornate displays of floating candles and flowers. The white brick lit up in a golden light. You can feel the straining patience of your uncle next to you as you both ascend the steps. Parties and balls were not his scene, but it would be improper for him to not accompany you.    
You’re both welcomed by the house staff who take your cloaks, and you wrap your arm around your uncle's as you both admire the vaulted ceiling, decorated with ornate mosaics.    
“Rather ostentatious, isn’t it?” he remarks, brows raised and mouth downturned in disdain. You chuckle, “I think it’s a wonderful display of the artist’s artistic prowess.”   
“Isn’t that what art galleries are for?”   
You’re about to respond to him, when the host, her ladyship Valorium drifts through the main doors to the ballroom. Eyebrows raising, and corner of her mouth twitching when she sees you both,    
“Count Dooku of Serenno! How wonderful it is to see you, this must be your niece?”   
Your curtsy as your uncle introduces you, “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Valorium.”   
She bows her head, “What a charming young creature you’ve raised, Count. You must be very proud.”   
“Immensely.” he responds stiffly, “Tell me, Lady Valorium, is your husband attending? There’s matters I wish to discuss with him.”   
“Of course,” she flutters her eyes, attempting to maintain her facade of the perfect host, “I will guide you to him now, Count Dooku.”   
She turns to you, and takes one of your gloved hands in hers, “The party is just behind the doors my dear, I wish you all the success of the evening.”   
“Thank you, Lady Valorium.” you manage as she drifts away, your uncle following swiftly after her.    
You brush down your skirt, and take a moment to breath before emerging into the ballroom. The ball is already in full swing, orchestra playing, and clusters of people chatting and laughing. You make your way through the crowds, receiving some barely hidden condescending looks as you pass through the seas of pastel ball gowns, and sharp, dark suits. You smile at each person you make eye contact with, ignoring the whispers and mutters around you.    
A sharp dressed man, with saggy eyes and a weak chin slides in front of you, bowing while extending his hand, “Lord Bertholdt of Coronet, from Corellia.”   
You reluctantly shake his hand, introducing yourself, “I’m Count Dooku of Ser-”   
“Serenno’s ward. I’m aware.” he plants a kiss on the back of your gloved hand, and flashes an uneven smile, “Would you care for a dance, m’lady?”   
“It’s too early to dance yet, Lord Bertholdt. I don’t wish to be deemed improper.”   
“Then would you like a refreshment perhaps? They’re serving the finest Corellian wine, provided by my family's orchards of course.”   
“I’ll be sure to try it, but if you do not mind, I would like to socialise a little first.”   
“Of course.” he wraps his arm around yours, and drags you through the crowds. This close to him, you pick up an eye wateringly strong smell of tobacco smoke. He brings you in front of a group of men, some paired with women. Your dress, exposing your collarbones and shoulders receives some disdainful looks, which you do your best to ignore, extending your greetings to around the small group.    
It wasn’t that you were particularly disliked, but the nature of your questionable legitimacy was widely known and gossiped upon, unlike some of the others around you, who didn’t remotely share their father’s looks at all. Between that, and being the ward of the reclusive and standoffish, as well as fabled leader of Serenno, parties tended to be an awkward affair.    
A glass of wine is shoved in front of you by Lord Bertholdt, and you struggle to accept it graciously, making a note to flee from him as soon as possible. He watches you intently as you taste it, asking immediately for your opinion. The bitter fermented taste sits on your tongue, and you manage to pull a compliment that sounds vaguely sincere. You make a show of taking two more sips, and feigning a low tolerance, fan your face and mime dizziness. Lord Bertholdt offers to fetch you some water, and you quickly agree, allowing him to guide you to a corner chair to rest while you wait for him.    
The minute the back of his thinning hair disappears, you leap from the seat, and flee to the other side of the dancefloor. You pass by your uncle who gives you a tired look, and you smile apologetically. He beckons you over, and takes your hand to lead you onto the floor as the orchestra starts a simple waltz. Your hand is held by his, and you rest your other hand on his shoulder, as various pairs take the floor. Your uncle sighs, moving swiftly and fluidly despite his age, “Do at least try, my dear.”   
You find your shoulder straining from the height difference, “I was whisked away without my choice by that invasive idiot from Corellia.”   
“The one with the chin?” he queries, tilting his head as he holds your hand while you spin. You return to the form, “That’s a cruel way to put it, uncle.”   
“But not referring to him as ‘that invasive idiot’?”    
“You weren’t the one having wine shoved down your throat.”   
“A danger many women of the season face.” he sighs, “Though I will admit, he and his family are rather loathsome. You can do better. Perhaps the Count of Ryloth?”   
“Who is he again?”   
“The one with the sharp teeth.”   
You stare at him, shaking your head, “I would rather not feel like I’m about to get eaten every time he speaks.”   
He hums while he thinks, guiding you across the dance, “The Senator of Umbarra’s son is looking for a match.”   
“Well I’ll make an introduction then.”   
“Oh, he’s not here, he’s only 16.” he shakes his head, and you sigh, growing annoyed at the way things are taking shape this evening, “Uncle, though I appreciate your efforts, you’re not particularly good at this.”   
“And you’re clearly such an expert.” he spins you again, but pulls you both back to the edge of the floor, hand resting on your back, “The Duke of Naboo is approaching us, I think he intends to take you from me.”   
“Count Dooku, your niece is as charming as they say.” The Duke, a young handsome man dressed in a sharp white uniform bows. Your uncle bows his head in return, and you curtsy, “I am glad. Have you come to ask her for a dance?”   
The Duke flashes a smile, bright and alluring, “If you wouldn’t mind, then yes.”   
Your uncle turns to you, and you nod, extending your hand to the Duke to take. He holds your gaze with clear blue eyes as he presses a kiss to the back of your gloves. Your stomach flutters, and your breath catches in your throat. Your uncle’s hand moves from your back as he steps back, and you’re led onto the floor by the Duke. 

  
“Now tell me, lady of Serenno,” he starts, leading you through the dance, “what is a pretty thing like you doing dancing with your uncle this late in the season?”   
“I value family, my dear Duke of Naboo, is it so bad that I wish to dance with my uncle?”   
“Please, call me Aamir.” he smiles, guiding you into a spin, “If anything, it is admirable.”   
“Are you suggesting dancing with my uncle is a chore, or act of charity?” you giggle, returning to the basic form. He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “It isn’t?”   
“It is on his part,” you whisper, “he was rescuing me from a rather dogged pursuer.”   
“Well, then he is as noble as he holds himself to be.” Aamir nods, holding you out to curtsy as the dance ends, “Will you do me the pleasure of joining me for a refreshment? I promise to defend you from all dogged pursuers of your distaste.”   
You giggle behind your hand, “Well when you put it like that, how could a girl refuse?”   
  


  
  


“It seems your introduction with the Duke of Naboo was a success,” your uncle hums across from you in the carriage, “he wishes to invite us for tea this coming Friday.”   
“Do you approve of him?”   
“He has wealth, and standing. He is suitable. You have no issue with him?”   
You shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up a little, “None at all.”   
Your uncle raises his eyebrows, “Good. I will send you with a chaperone then.”    
“You won’t be joining us?”   
“I have matters with Chancellor Valorium to attend to. You will be in safe hands I assure you, and I have all faith in your ability to secure your partnership.”

You stay silent, struggling to hide your smile as you think of the charming Duke you had spent your evening with. He had told you amazing stories of his home, of the mountains and springs and lakes. He had made your stomach hurt from laughter telling tales of wild adventures of his life in his estate with all his siblings and animals.    
Your cheeks hurt as you stare out the window on the way home.

  
The streets are quiet, and the street lamps are dwindling as the carriage pulls up in front of the townhouse. Your uncle helps you out, and you are welcomed by the valet, who removes your cloaks, and brings over telegrams to your uncle on a silver platter. He squints at them, patting your shoulder, “My dear, will you bring me my glasses from my desk in the study.”   
You nod, and walk through the halls on tired feet towards the dark study, fitted with mahogany and accented with silver hardware. Your hands pat over the desk, nearly blindly searching in the low light coming from the hallway.   
“Where are the darned things?” you mutter. A deep, crackled voice breaks the darkness,    
“Can I help you?”   
You can’t help it. You shriek. Jumping back with hands over your chest. Your adjusting eyes make out a figure sitting idly in the chair, shrouded in dark but a glint of light bounces off the metal he wears.    
“Who are you?”   
“The Count sent for me, I was told to wait for him here. I wasn’t expecting to be greeted by a morning dove this late in the night.”   
Your cheeks burn, as you stare at the armoured man, who regards you with a lazy tilt of his helmet. Gathering the strings of your composure, you open your mouth to speak again, but are interrupted by your uncle switching on the light, “Ah, my apologies, Fett. The night ran far later than anticipated. I trust you were looked after.”   
“Yes, my lord.”   
Your uncle turns to you, “Retire for the evening, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”   
You nod, walking up and standing on your tiptoes to give him a goodnight kiss on the cheek. As you slip out and close the door, you give one last look at the armoured man.    
He turns his head to look back at you.    
You slam the door shut. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have your tea with Aamir, the Duke of Naboo, but something doesn't sit right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the love and support for the story so far! I'm glad you've liked it so far!

Alice rings the bell.    
Your eyes snap open.   
The anticipation of your tea session with Aamir had eaten at you for the past several days. You had spent hours pouring over books and newspaper articles for discussions, and picked your outfit several days in advance. You slip on your slippers and allow for Alice to help you into your robe before descending down the staircase for breakfast.    
Uncle Dooku doesn’t raise his eyes from the paper he is reading as you enter, his dark red robe lapel crinkled as though he had fallen asleep in them. The bags under his eyes confirm that he likely did.   
“Another late night meeting, uncle?” you chirp as you slide into your seat, gratefully accepting the cup of tea poured for you by servants. He grunts something before clearing his throat, “Yes, my dear, this arrangement is taking its time to procure. The price I will pay is some sleep, nothing I am unused to.”   
“You ought to look after yourself better, uncle, perhaps rising later to counteract the late nights?”   
He chuckles, finally lifting his eyes from the paper, “It’s as if you hardly know me, my dear. But enough of that, your tea with the Duke of Naboo is this afternoon, yes?”   
“Yes.” you sip your tea, “Alice is to be my chaperone?”   
“Yes, that girl is suited for ensuring nothing untoward goes on, and you’ll both be accompanied of course.”   
“Accompanied?”   
“Well, it would be improper for me to send two young women out to a stranger’s house unaccompanied.” he sighs, folding the paper up, and waves over the breakfast. You nod your thanks to the servants, and pick up a knife to butter your toast, “And, who have you chosen for this dreary job?”

“Our quiet guest.”   
The knife clatters, bouncing off the china plate with a clang.    
The quiet guest who has resided in the downstairs quarters these past few days. You only ever see him around the house at night, peaking a glance of shining silver and blue in between the stair banisters. A warrior donned in armour.    
Your uncle raises an eyebrow.    
You pick up the knife and return to buttering your toast, coolly answering, “I was under the impression that our quiet guest was nocturnal.”    
“He is many things, but a creature that purely skulks around in the night is not one of them. He will accompany you both.”   
“What has he done to you to earn such a worthless job?”   
“No job is worthless, my dear” he takes a bite of his toast, dabbing his mouth with a napkin as he chews and swallows, “Especially not this one.”

You hold your stomach and suppress a hiss, as Alice secures the ties around your dress.    
The light fabric is a godsend in the heat of the capital, and the lace overlay of the skirt embroidered with colourful flowers is a nice substitute for the greenery that Coruscant lacks.    
“The blue sash, Alice.” you instruct, reaching forward to the bed to pull on the lace gloves.    
Your handmaiden drapes and wraps the light satin over your waist, expertly tying it in a secure but perfect bow at the small of your back.    
You examine your reflection, the square neck gown with puffy three quarter length sleeves is the picture of summer day wear. Though your uncle usually disparaged the inner core styles, favouring the traditional Serennian high necks, he had granted you a gracious budget for the season.    
Alice kneels to put on your boots, as you slip on the diamond earrings. There’s nothing wrong with your appearance, but your fingers itch to adjust or tweak something. Alice holds your shoulders, “My lady, you are perfectly dressed.”   
“Are you sure? Perhaps the yellow-”   
She shakes her head, “Perfectly dressed. Now, my lady, we must depart lest you be late for the Duke.”

You take the small beaded purse and fan, and let Alice fix on your hat, securing it in place with a pin, before tying her own. You both descend the stairs, and your heart thuds in your ears as the silver and blue of the quiet guest watches you.    
He bows his head, muttering a quiet, “M’lady.”   
You stare at his hidden face, an uneasiness settling as your own dumb expression is reflected back to you, “Excuse me a moment, I must see my uncle before we leave.” 

“The Count is in a meeting, m’lady. He instructed me to pass his regards, and best wishes for the tea.”    
Your lips part, cheeks warming slightly. His voice is silken against your ears, despite all its roughness, the deep intensity of it is unlike something you’ve ever heard before. The bird in your chest flutters. You come to your senses enough to nod, and let him guide you to the carriage.    
Alice slides in next to you, the quiet guest across from you. The leather upholstery is hot against the thin layers of your dress, and you fan yourself with your hand. The carriage jolts to a start, hooves clopping and wheels bumping over the uneven stone streets. The silence is uneasy, making your fried nerves twitch with each quiet inhale. You break it,    
“Tell me, quiet guest, what is your name?”   
“Jango Fett, m’lady.”   
“Of?”   
“Concord Dawn.”   
You hum, Alice frowns, “Concord Dawn in the Mandalore region?”   
“You are correct, miss.”   
You turn your head to look outside, the sharp, hot streams of sun landing on your face. You close your eyes, savouring the heat against your skin, as you say quietly, “Then you are awfully far from home, Jango Fett of Concord Dawn.”   
  


Aamir waits for you at the bottom of the steps of his townhouse as the carriage pulls up. Jango Fett disembarks first, holding his hand for you to take as you step out. The steadiness of him is enough to make your cheeks heat up again, the warmth of the leather creeping through your lace intoxicating despite the stiff, warm air around you.   
You’re snapped out of it by Aamir approaching you, holding out his hand for you to slide your own into, and the firm press of his lips tugs at your chest as mildly stifling, “As radiant as ever, lady of Serenno.”   
The reflex smile kicks in, and you half curtsy, “I must say, your grace, I feel the radiance of your hospitality far outdoes me.”   
“Nonsense,” he beams, wrapping his arm in yours and leading you up the stairs, “I’ve had tea laid out in the greenhouse, it’s the most vibrant part of the property. The closest thing to Naboo in this awful city.”   
You’re led through cream archways, and vibrant vases of flowers, walls decorated with mosaics and oil paintings of rich landscapes you have only ever seen printed in textbooks. Finally, Aamir leads you to the dome shaped greenhouse, and you gasp.   
Butterflies, and green trees, and rich flowers fill your vision. You spin around in wonder, and Aamir chuckles, pulling out a white seat for you to sit.    
The tea flashes through in a rush of your chuckling and his storytelling. The Duke is once again charming beyond measure and ensures both Alice and Jango have food and tea where they wait on the edge of the greenhouse.    
You’re led through and introduced to all the flowers, and their meanings,    
“And the lilies! See the blue lily, my dear,” he points out, “they symbolise the sun and rebirth. While the calla lily is a symbol of love.”   
“My grace, Aamir, how do you know all this?” you chuckle, cheeks blossoming in the warmth of the greenhouse. He pats your hand, “All in good time my dear. Now these, the hydrangeas-”   
“Don’t they mean-”   
“Don’t cut me off,” his hand squeezes yours painfully, warm eyes suddenly very hard and corners of his mouth twitching. You blink a few times, alarm bells ringing in your ears. He closes his eyes, and his smile widens, “They mean honesty, and deep understanding.”

The journey home is silent, you stare out the window hands restless in your lap.    
Your stomach still pits from the look Aamir gave you earlier, your skin crawling from the discomfort of his gaze.    
You don’t wait for Jango to disembark when the carriage pulls up in front of the house, pulling off your gloves and hat as you ascend the stairs in front of the townhouse, and chucking them on the table in the foyer. Your uncle emerges from the study, quirking an eyebrow, “Home already, my dear?”   
“The heat was terribly uncomfortable, I wish to bathe.”   
“Well,” he sighs, “I’ve invited the Duke for dinner tomorrow evening. Hopefully to finalise the affair.”   
Your hand rests on the banister at the foot of the stairs, not quite looking at your uncle as your stomach flips, the back of the hand he had gripped burning. You nod, and run up the staircase.

Alice says nothing scrubbing your back, while hot fat tears roll down your cheeks silently. You’re sitting, curled in the clawfoot tub, staring at the tiled wall across from you, your dress and undergarments in a heap on the floor where you had pulled them off.    
The flowers on the skirt seem childish now.    
You skip dinner, feigning eating too much at lunch and curl up in front of the fireplace in just your nightgown. Alone, having sent Alice away for the evening.    
The weight of his stare and the force of his grip hit you all at once. You stifle your sob into your sleeves, not quite believing it really happened. It was all blurred. But the light bruising that is appearing on your hand confirms that it had. 

You watch the fire slowly die, and the brittle ache on your tailbone from sitting on the hardwood floors hits you. As does the painful emptiness of your stomach. Sighing, you pull yourself up off the floor, and slip on your slippers and dressing gown, grabbing a candle and lighting it before you creep out the door.    
The house is deadly silent this late at night.   
You suppress the urge to shiver as you creep down the staircase, avoiding the squeaky board on the left of the third step down, before moving down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen.    
It’s bathed in blue light, shining down from the windows. And completely empty. You hug your arms, moving your hands up and down to summon some warmth back into your body. Quietly, you take out the pot, and pour in some milk, spooning in a few teaspoons of cocoa, and letting it simmer, as you cut a round of bread. Not bothering to pour it into a cup, you hoist yourself to sit on the counter beside the range, and tear off chunks of bread, dipping them into the hot, chocolatey milk before popping them into your mouth.    
A rather un-sophiscated method of eating, but the comfort and warmth it brings you in the privacy of the kitchen is all that counts. You savour the informality of it all, bringing you back to days of life before becoming your uncle’s ward.    
You hadn’t always had such a cushy life. Filled with servants on hand, and the latest dresses of the finest materials. You had once lived a much simpler life, in a small but cosy house with your mother. You two would divulge in this little treat, dripping fresh baked, sweetened bread into hot chocolate to eat, not bothering to even decant it into separate cups.    
Life seemed much happier then.   
The flash of cramping pain in your hand makes you whimper. The tears blur your vision again. Lost in some sort of maze, you were unable to see the exit, or even the centre.   
  


“Hours this late are not for those like you, little morning dove.”   
You snap your head up to see Jango Fett leaning against the doorframe. You sniff, wiping away the tears that spilled over with your good hand, “You’d be surprised what kind of hours I am able to endure, Fett. What reasons do you have to be up?”   
He shrugs, nonchalantly sitting at the table, “I was roused by the sounds of footsteps and the smell of warm milk. Not quite the drink of choice for your servants.”   
“How observant you are.” you hoarsely manage, slipping off the counter, and bringing the empty pan to the sink, “I’m afraid there’s none left to share with you.”   
He lets out a small snort of laughter, the sound distorted by his helmet. You place the pan up to dry before you turn to him, curiosity piqued, “Why are you always in armour?”   
“It is mine, I earned it through my work, and duty for my people. It is a privilege to wear it.” he responds, stretching out his gloved hand across the table, tapping it twice. You stare at the sheer size of his hands, momentarily wondering what the colour of his skin is, “You just came in from a job my uncle sent you on, correct?”   
The fingertips resting on the table flinch slightly, he chuckles, “Now who’s the observant one, how could you tell?”   
You wrap your arms around your body once more, nodding to gesture to the dark splodge on the carpet behind him, “You tracked mud in with you.”   
Jango turns his head, and sighs, “So I did.”   
“Well, I’ll leave you to sort it while I retire to bed.” you bid him goodnight, walking around the table to leave, but his voice stops you, “Is your hand all right?”   
You freeze, body tensing as you fumble for a reason for how he could’ve known, and how you could explain it. You’re so caught up in your own thoughts, that you don’t register him standing up and approaching you, gently taking your hand in his. You don’t hold back your wince as he examines the fingertip shaped bruises under your candle’s light. He sighs, muttering something in a language you don’t understand, yet it flows so naturally with his accent. As if sensing your confusion, he says in Basic,    
“A horrid man.”   
You don’t respond, suddenly feeling the closeness between you two, and the coolness emitting from his armour, settling against your skin easily through the flimsy layers of your nightwear. You swallow the lump in your throat, threatening to break your composure, “Goodnight, Jango Fett of Concord Dawn.”   
“Goodnight, little morning dove.” 

You stay in your room most of the day, not bothering to change from your nightgown as you pace around your bed. Too soon, the sun begins to set and Alice arrives with your gown. She cautiously smiles, “The Count himself approved of it. It’s Serrennian red.”   
You feel the rich fabrics of velvet and lace between your finger and thumb, and sigh, braving a smile for Alice, “Well, then how can I refuse?”

The dress is heavy, and ornate.    
Hardly a thing to be worn for an at home dinner. But your uncle has faith it seems. The white skirt panel embroidered with gold flowers, and the lace weaved with gold threads back dropped against the rich red is beautiful.   
Too beautiful.   
Alice secures your clip in your hair, and brushes off your shoulders, smiling at you through the mirror.    
It doesn’t reach her eyes.

  
Your uncle smiles proudly at you as you descend the stairs, holding out his hand for you to take as you reach the bottom steps, “A vision of beauty, my dear.”   
“Thank you, uncle.” you manage, a hollowness settling over your stomach.    
The dress weighs you down, too heavy and stifling, you can barely breathe.    
You both wait in the foyer, your gloved hand in your uncle’s as outside a carriage pulls up. Aamir flashes a charming smile as he enters, greeting you both graciously, and for a moment you’re nearly fooled, but the sting from his hand gripping yours sends shockwaves up your arm.    
Aamir pulls out the chair for you, always the gentlemen, and you smooth out your napkin over your skirt.    
Aamir and your uncle converse over the courses of dinner. Conversing in a stiff dialect of rich man that you don’t care for, as you mess with the food on your plate. You can’t bring yourself to eat despite the emptiness inside, a lack of warmth you had once possessed.

  
The servants take away the final plates, and Aamir stands up, “Count Dooku of Serenno, I wish to speak plainly here with you in your house, is that permitted?”   
Your uncle raises an eyebrow, the tiredness of entertaining the Duke settling in, “Yes.”   
“I have said before, and I will say again, that I find your niece a charming creature. She’s eloquent, obedient and most beautiful.”   
Aamir doesn’t even look at you as he continues, “I wish for her to be my mistress.”  
Your uncle drops his spoon into his after dinner tea, “Your what?”   
His tone of voice makes you flinch, low and steady and tense barely maintaining the strings of decorum. Aamir flusters, “My- my mistress?”   
Your uncle sits back in his chair, hands folding in front of him, “You are married then?”   
“Yes, Count. My wife has permitted me to acquire a mistress and-"  
"Permitted? How kind. So you went to balls where you knew people were looking for marriage suitors?"  
"Well, I thought as your niece is an illegit-”   
“Choose your next words carefully, Duke.”   
Aamir straightens himself huffing, “I am the best offer she is going to receive, you must realise that. It’s hardly a bad offer, she’d be well looked after in our househol-”   
“You have outworn your welcome here, and my patience. I suggest you leave.” your uncle waves his hand, turning to acknowledge you finally.    
Your eyes are fixed on the patterns embroidered on your skirt, the crushing weight internalising and building in your chest. Aamir speaks, probably to defend himself but you don’t hear him. A dull ringing sets in your ears, all that penetrates it is your shaky inhales.

  
You look up in time to see Jango Fett leading the Duke out, the double doors to the dining room slamming shut.    
Your uncle sighs, “Are you alright, my dear?”   
The dam in your chest bursts. And you cry, slumping down in your chair, sobbing ugly guttural chokes with tears streaming.    
Humiliation and shame and anger boiling and bubbling over.    
You haven’t cried like this since you were a child.    
He stands up, and crouches beside you, his usually superior expression replaced with mild pity as he reaches over to pat your shoulder. You cover your face with your gloves, not caring if your cosmetics stain the lace, as you lean into him.    
He allows you to lean on his shoulder, simply patting his hand and saying nothing. It isn’t much, but it’s an unusual show of affection from him.    
“What can I do to help you?”

  
“Can- can we go home?” you sniff, “Please?”

* * *

[The tea party dress](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/d7/84/96/d78496eeddf48dc92c775f3a9efcbfc2.jpg)

[the evening gown ](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/b0/e8/42/b0e84258a8f42fd00b3ee856675a96c4.jpg)

[nightdress](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/24/86/17/2486177597876faed58d1c8d385b3b79.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've linked above the inspiration behind the dresses for this chapter, I know that the styles are all from different decades within the 1800s but????? creative liberty??? please x


	3. Chapter 3

The shrill whistle of the train jolts you from your snooze.  
Stifling a yawn behind your hand, you look across the box to where your uncle sleeps, undisturbed. His chest rises and falls with a steady rhythm, the soft look upon his usually stern face makes him look nearly vulnerable in age. The harsh lines of life settling and merging as he snores softly, knees covered in a fur blanket of blacks streaked with gray.  
Outside, the world fades into a flurry of snow, dusty and white. The landscape is so heavy and thick, that you can only see your own face cast in a yellow light from the lamp stare back at you when you try to place where you are.  
Sighing, you remove the fur blanket from over your knees, and slip your arms through your jacket, sliding the door of the box open to creep out. The thin corridor of first class, decorated in rich reds and mahoganies, shakes and shudders with each rotation of the train’s wheels. Despite the rich interior, you still shiver, making your way down to the observation carriage. A server greets you, graciously pulling out a chair and serving you black tea in a white china tea set,  
“Jam, Lady Serenno?”  
“Yes, please.” you nod, watching him add a spoonful of the blood-red preserve and stirring it in, “How far are we from the station?”  
“Roughly an hour, Lady Serenno.” he informs, setting aside the spoon with a slight ‘ting’ before bowing and disappearing again. Leaving you alone.  
You take off your gloves, and savour the warmth being emitted from the cup as you sip at the sweet drink, immediately filling your body with warmth. 

“One presumes you have a sweet tooth, m’lady?”  
The familiar rumble of his voice does not stop you from fumbling, as you lower your tea cup back down to avoid staining your off-white travel wear.  
“My mother always said to enjoy the smaller joys of life, Jango Fett.”  
“Wise words.”  
You turn your head, seeing him standing and leaning against the wall. When had he come in?  
Clearing your throat, you extend your hand out to gesture to the chair across from you, “Care to sit?”  
Something similar to a chuckle escapes his helmet, “It would be impolite to refuse, I assume?”  
“We are in private, and you are a creature of your own free will. The only impoliteness would stem from any dishonesty you harbour, Jango Fett.”  
“I can assure you, little morning dove, that I am many things,” he says, ambling across the carriage to sit across from you, “but a dishonest man is not one of them.”  
Feeling a flush rise to your cheeks, you take another sip of your tea, “Are you joining us in Serenno? If so, your armour is not suited for the weather this time of year, you will seize up and freeze.”  
“I’m afraid not, morning dove. Your uncle has offered me a lift so my horse will only withstand half a journey in the cold.”  
The fluttering in your chest falters, a slight deflation taking hostage of your heart, “Your horse is with you?”  
“In the stable hold. He’s old, but a loyal and sturdy thing.” Jango tells you.  
“What is his name?”  
“Jaster’s Legacy.”  
You ponder the name for a moment, repeating it with a small smile, “A noble name. You will have to show him to me sometime.”  
You are sure that you’re imagining it, but it feels like he is smiling at you from beneath the helmet. 

The train slows to a stop at the station of Serenno with your heavy heart.  
The warm grey speckled fur of your hat and collar fight off the freezing winter wind, your hands stored safely in gloves and a matching fur muff as you depart the train, holding your uncle’s gloved hand for balance. Standing beside you as the valets ready the carriage, your uncle deeply inhales, closing his eyes,  
“A sure relief to finally be home, my dear.”  
“Indeed, uncle.” you respond, letting him guide you up the steps to the carriage, “The air is far clearer here. Less stifling.”  
He hums in agreement, draping the fur blanket over your knees, before draping his own, as the carriage lurches to a start, “The driver informed me that the roads are heavy with snow, it may take a while to arrive at the castle. I sent a telegram ahead, fires will be lit, and dinner will be ready to serve.”  
“Thank you.” you nod, looking at the window as the station shrinks further away.  
Searching through the snow for a noble horse, and a rider donned in silver and blue. 

You settle yourself into a routine after arriving home.  
Rising shortly after dawn, and dressing to join your uncle for breakfast. You both cordially discuss the steel business he runs, and any news from the Serenno region. You then go to the library where you manage the paperwork of the business, a job bestowed onto you by your uncle after days of begging for a job to distract yourself with.  
It’s not a particularly interesting job, but it’s time consuming and lets you distract yourself. You type up the hand-written notes, and documents, written in your uncle’s sharp and slanted lines, or those of other business dealers, and then categorize them into the many boxes within the library. Allowing the events of Coruscant to become a distant memory in the heavy, stone walls of Castle Serenno.  
The bruising fades, yet the humiliation it held still seizes you from time to time. Rendering you unable to move.  
After your morning paperwork, you forcefully join your uncle for luncheon, making him depart his own office for a small break. Sometimes it's soup and fresh bread, other times just tea, before a small walk in the castle grounds, which are slowly growing greener as the winter clouds pass. After which, your uncle returns to his study for more work, while you move to the wide window seat of the library, pouring over books to read in the fading light.  
By dinner time your uncle’s patience with you has usually worn thin, and he typically forgoes dinner, claiming his age makes him less hungry these days. So you often dine alone. Accompanied only candlelight. 

Such is the routine while the long winter passes slowly into early spring. 

The sun parts the clouds, and the slight warmth it provides covers the side of your face. You turn your head up from your book, ‘The history of the Mandalorian wars.’, and close your eyes, absorbing the first peek of the end of winter.  
Closing the book, you abruptly get up and leave the high vaulted ceilings of the library, “Alice?”  
Your voice echoes in the grey hallway, the plush red rug beneath you is your only company. Sighing, you walk down the halls, your dress swishing as you wind down the servant’s staircase to the kitchens.  
“My lady?”  
“Good afternoon, Chef Soja.” you smile as the balding man, “I was wondering if there were any fruits in store? I wish to have a picnic”  
“Well, my lady,” he scratches the back of his neck, and stares outside, “The star cherries are in season, as well as the last of the mandarins, though the later may be a bit bitter.” 

“That’s alright, could you set some aside? Enough for Alice and I, and maybe some tea too please?”  
“Of course my lady.” he bows his head, you thank him once again before you trot up the stairs to your room.   
“Alice?” you call again, and your door opens, her head bobbing a little with her curtsy, “Yes, my lady?”  
“Grab your coat, we’re having a picnic.” you smile, reaching for your own coat, the lighter one decorated with frilly flowers, “I thought the weather was too nice to miss, and my uncle’s so dreary about these things, so I decided you’ll be the best company and-”  
“My lady,” she sighs, coming over to you, and removing your hat from your hands, “the rain clouds have settled in.”  
“Oh.”  
As if on cue, the growing tap of rain begins to hit against the windows, the bubbling excitement of the picnic dies down, “So they have.”  
“We could take tea together in the drawing room if you wish? An indoor picnic of sorts?”  
A rather harsh pelt of rain hits the glass and you jump. Alice’s hand settles over yours, and you manage a small smile, “Yes, that would be nice. Thank you.”

She nods, and curtseys before turning to leave you alone in your room. You sigh, slumping your shoulders and pulling your hair out of its hairdo, letting the stiffened curls cascade past your shoulders and down your back. The ache that had settled over your scalp dies as you massage it out.  
Not bothering to redo your hair, you grab a shawl from your desk, and trot back down the stairs to the drawing room.  
The red embossed wallpaper loses its shine with the dull grey light coming from the windows, and the dark wood does little to stop the room feeling cold, despite the fire in the hearth. Alice is seated at the main table by the window, a small tea set in mismatched china laid out, with bowls of cut and pitted fruit.  
Though Alice’s formal position is your handmaid, she had become more of a companion over the years. A few years your senior, she had started working with you when you had just come to Castle Serenno, and, as your uncle kept you out of schools or clubs, she had become your only constant company in the rounds of tutors and governesses. After your education had ceased, she had stayed on, becoming more of a friend and attendant in the passing years.  
You slump in the window seat as she pours out the tea, “I thought we could escape this dreary place for just a moment.”  
“Well, my lady,” Alice says, passing over your tea, “If the sky is red tonight, perhaps we can break routine and have a walk after breakfast. Or maybe have a ride out on the land? Michael says your Clementine is getting awfully distressed without you these days.”  
“Perhaps a ride with Clemmie would do me good,” you muse, thinking of the tobiano part-bred in the stables. With the sudden prospect of a break in the dreary schedule you’ve settled into, you perk up, reaching forward to pop a cherry into your mouth, “let’s hope the spring rain doesn’t linger.”

As Alice had thought, the red sky descends in the evening, and by morning, you’re barely finished breakfast before you’re trying to slip into your teal wool riding habit. Your boot taps with unrestrainable energy as Alice secures your hat and veil by the mirror. You nearly leap from the chair, and pull on your gloves as you bolt down the stairs and out towards the stables. Michael greets you with a small bow of his head, rubbing and blowing on his hands to warm them up against the early spring chill that pinches your cheeks.  
Alice greets the stable manager, with a small kiss on the cheek. The small intimate action makes your cheeks blush a little, and you turn away to stroke Clemmie’s snout. She snorts at you, you feel the unspoken beratement at your recent neglect of her,  
“I’m sorry, Clemmie.” you whisper, “But winter isn’t much fun to ride in, old girl. Look, here,” you grab a fistful of oats from the bag, and hold them out for her, “I know you like them.”  
With another huff, the horse slowly licks up the oats from your hand, the action is ticklish against your glove and you let out a small giggle, ruffling her mane with your free hand.  
“Do you need help mounting, my lady?” Michael asks, you shake your head, determinedly stomping up the small steps, and giving Clemmie a rub on her neck, sit on the saddle. Taking a moment to settle against the nearly painful leather seat, and fixing your skirt as you secure yourself, you give Clemmie’s flank a light tap with the heel of your boot.   
She snorts, easily settling into a gentle trot. You lean forward and pat her neck again, whispering little praises as you settle into the familiar sway. 

Clemmie had been your uncle’s first gift to you.  
Not soon after you had come into his care, he took you to stay with him for a social visit at Lord Gunray’s country home. On the early spring afternoon, the pain of loss still fresh in your heart, they had taken you to the stable, and told you that whichever horse you picked from the new season of foals would be yours.  
While they spoke in hushed voices behind your back, you had cautiously stepped through into the stable, the smell nearly eye-watering as horses snorted left and right of you. The occasionally whinny of one broke through your beating heart, as you felt drawn to the dark to the deepest corner of the stable. Peeking over the horse box, a brown and cream tobiano lay tied in the corner. The black eyes stared glittering back at you. You pushed in, and the foal struggled to its feet, legs shaking and splaying as you crept towards it. Slowly, you reached out your hand, laying it on the tobiano’s snout. It snorted, the spray of mist tickling your palm and wrist made you giggle.  
Keeping your hand stroking down its snout, you turned back to your uncle, “This one, Uncle Count sir.”  
“Oh, my dear,” the viceroy of the trade federation sighed as he approached, cautiously laying a hand on your shoulder and crouching a little to your height, “I’m not quite sure this one will suit you. Perhaps one of the thoroughbreds would suit you better?”  
“Lord Gunray, you told me any foal I wished. And this is the one that I wish.” you stared back at him, unblinking. Gunray fumbled for words a little, turning up to your uncle for help, but he just shrugged, “She is simply holding you to your word, Viceroy.”  
He hummed, unsure, before patting your shoulder, “Well then my dear, as you wish.”  
“Have it transported to Serenno after its health checks, and weaning.” your uncle instructed, and turned back to you, “What do you wish to name the filly, my dear?”  
“Clementine!”  
He raised an eyebrow, but held out his hand to you, “Clementine will join us in the summer then, my dear.”

The ground beneath Clemmie’s hooves squelches, and the air is bitingly cold on the inside of your nose, but eye wateringly fresh following the cooped up winter in the dusty castle. Alice and Michael ride behind you, both sharing a steady creature, with shaggy long hair. Clemmie trots happily, head bobbing with the rhythm. The forest trails are slowly taking a green tint, and the pale sunlight in the early morning sky makes the scene almost beautiful. Alice and Michael chat in hushed tones behind you, but you don’t mind. Let the two lovers have their time together, it’s good enough to be outside and back with Clemmie.  
You approach the edge of the forest, leading out of the grounds and you pull Clemmie back for a gentle walk. The sun rises idly in the sky as the morning fades into early afternoon. You sigh, how quickly your small respite seems to be passing. You guide Clemmie to turn, and she huffs, obeying. You reluctantly tap her with your boot to pick up the pace to return to the stables, when the distant thud of galloping quickly approaches. Turning your head, you see a flash of grey, silver and blue break the treeline.  
Heart skipping a beat, and gasping a little, you feel your cheeks round with your small smile.

Jango Fett has returned. 

He slows to a trot upon seeing you all, bowing his helmet to you as he approaches, “M’lady of Serenno, fortune smiles upon me to see you once again.”  
The heat that you feel rising to your cheeks is hopefully hidden behind the thin netting of your veil, though you doubt it somehow, “To what do we owe the pleasure, Jango Fett of Concord Dawn?”  
“I have been called by your uncle for a job.”  
“Ah, I should have known.” you nod, petting Clemmie’s mane once again as you nod towards his horse, “This is Jaster’s Legacy, I presume.”  
“Correct, m’lady.”  
“A noble steed indeed. You must be proud.”  
“He has served me well.” Jango responds, patting the grey mane, and nodding his helmet towards Clemmie, “I presume this half-thorough is your own?”  
“Clementine.” you smile shyly, “Made from a similar yarn to myself.”  
“She’s a fine thing,” he hums, guiding Jaster’s Legacy to trot a circle around you, his gloved hand reaches out to brush down her snout, helmet tilted up slightly, “All the elegant refinements and beauties, without any of the smugness.”  
Your breath hitches slightly, butterflies fluttering beneath your jacket, “We were just making our way back to the stables, care to join us?”  
“It would be a pleasure, m’lady.” he bows his head again, and brings Jaster’s legacy to ride alongside Clemmie.  
Alice and Michael stick right behind you, keeping some sense of decorum as you and Jango chatter idly about the winter, your eyes drifting sometimes to the thick muscle of his legs. Your cheeks heat up despite the cool air, as you ponder how strong he appears. The journey ends too quickly, Michael and Alice sliding off their horse first, before Michael leads Clemmie in by the reins. Jango slips off from Jaster’s Legacy and guides him to a horsebox, before coming over to you, holding out his hands, “Allow me, m’lady.”  
Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you stifle a gasp as his hands enclose around the small of your waist as he easily lifts you down from Clementine. Body buzzing, you slowly remove your hands from his shoulders, but Jango’s grip on your waist lingers a little. Looking up to his helmet, you feel your lips part, but before you can say anything he slips away, retreating back to the horsebox to remove saddles, and saddle bags. Alice’s hand comes onto your arm, tugging slightly, “Come, my lady, let’s get washed and dressed for dinner tonight. Michael said he’ll take care of Clemmie.”  
Your gaze lingers on Jango’s wide shoulders, ones you had just momentarily held, before you finally give in to Alice’s slight tug. 

* * *

[Travelling back to Serenno](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/02/b3/80/02b38069012efc731d359c298c690ffd.jpg)

[Reading in the library](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/8d/13/6b/8d136b171e7a21fc5022bc94ace00405.jpg)

[Riding with Clementine](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/be/f1/67/bef16785e4a06acfed8bfc3dbdf8e2e4.jpg)

[Clementine](https://i.pinimg.com/236x/f6/66/21/f66621a0e93d9f1b405b90d6ced31134.jpg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know jackshit about horses sorry

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! And lemme know what you think!


End file.
